Are Those Fangs Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?
by seriousish
Summary: After Emma comes back from the Enchanted Forest, she's disappointed to find out that that bat that bit her was more like a... vampire. Now a vampire herself, she goes to see Regina. If Regina can't cure her, then she could do with a little less blood. It's the least she can do after cursing everyone for 28 years. Swan Queen


Embarrassingly, Regina's first thought when she woke up to see Emma standing over her was _Oh, this dream again._

A moment later, her head cleared. Emma was just… looking at her.

"Sheriff, I hope you have a warrant."

"It burns when I'm in direct sunlight," Emma said, and now Regina noticed she was unusually pale, even by the standards of Snow White's clan. "You better not have put a curse on me, Regina, I swear—"

"My evil plots tend to involve apples? Perhaps you've noticed?" Regina got the idea. Emma had a magic problem and no, she couldn't wake up Mr. Gold or Mary-Margaret in the middle of the night. Had to be the Evil Queen.

Emma rested her hand on a bedpost, reminding Regina she was still in a comfortable-but-not-altogether-appropriate-for-hosting teddy under her silk sheets. Emma's fingernails seemed to be drilling into the wood.

"You said you wanted to do good. Well… fix this!"

Regina sat up, pulling the sheets up with her. "How long have you been experiencing this?"

"Since I got back from the Enchanted Forest. It used to be I could just slather on some suntan lotion… and I stopped by the church a few days ago. It felt like I was on fire. And don't you say it!"

"Say what?"

"Something about me being struck by lightning or sweating like a whore in church. I'm not in the mood."

"Why would I compare you to a whore, Sheriff? I'm sure no one's ever paid you for sex?"

Emma's eyes slanted trying to figure out the jibe in there.

"And?" Regina prompted, sensing Emma was holding something back.

"I… have this… it's stupid—"

"No doubt. Continue."

"I've found myself wanting to… drink people."

Regina blinked. She pulled her sheets up to her chin. "How so?"

Emma stuffed her hands in her pockets. "The usual way. Bite their necks and—" She hollowed her cheeks making a sucking-on-a-straw noise. Then her eyes zoned out a little. "Or maybe cut them. A nice, small cut, somewhere pretty, and lap up the blood. Or I could bite their lip, just a little, and as we kissed I could—"

"I'm not in the mood for your Twilight fanfic, Sheriff."

Emma's eyes snapped back to Regina. "I'm not—I'm almost thirty! I read Anne Rice!"

"Fetch me my housecoat."

Emma planted her hands on her hips. "What's that have to do with Anne Rice?"

"Nothing. But it's very conservative and I'd rather not wander around in my underthings with a vampire around. I've seen enough versions of Dracula to know what happens to busty, sexually promiscuous women who wear low-cut nightgowns."

Emma's eyelids seemed to disappear so her eyes could widen the appropriate amount. "I'm not Dracula!"

"You're telling me. Emma, on your little escapade with Snow White, did you happen to be bitten by a bat at any point?"

"No!" Emma broke off and rubbed her neck. "It was a bird."

"Was it at night?"

"Yes."

"Did you see the bird?"

"No…"

"Did _you_ happen to bite it for some reason?"

Emma sighed. "Where's your damn housecoat?"

* * *

Much more safely attired, and holding a cross she'd taken off Sister Astrid as a trophy, Regina led Emma to her magic room.

"How could you get yourself bitten by a vampire? You little idiot. Don't you know enough to pack a cross? Some garlic? Anything?"

"Yeah, I forgot my garlic, what was I thinking?" Emma heaved another sigh. "Does this mean I won't show up in mirrors?"

"Relax. You'll still be able to do your hair. Just like everything _your _stupid planet does with stories of my world, you've misinterpreted things. Clearly, you're able to enter my home without being invited in."

"What else did Bram Stoker get wrong? I mean, I don't suppose I can turn into a mist…"

"You'll be relieved to know you don't have to kill people. Just drink a little of their blood and then stop—that should tide you over until I find a cure."

"You don't have one right now? Regina, I cannot be a vampire! Henry has a piano recital in two days."

Regina stopped. Smiled back at Emma. "Yes. He does. Doesn't he. Well, clearly in your state, you're a danger to yourself and others. You simply can't attend. Can you?"

Emma met Regina's gaze like it was a charging Mongol horde. "I really hate when you start talking in short, declarative sentences."

Almost gleefully, Regina took Emma's hand. "You see, Emma, given you burn up in sunlight and drink blood by night, it's probably best to keep you in a dark, windowless room for the few days it'll take me to research a cure. And while you're indisposed, I'll take care of Henry." She patted Emma's hand. "After all, I wouldn't want you to worry about him."

Emma was unaware, but her eyes had turned red. "I think you'd better cure me. Right now."

"I told you. I don't have a cure. Not yet."

"Yeah. Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know, I suppose vampires must suffer from paranoia."

"Or you're exactly the kind of bitch who would plant me in a dungeon while you steal my kid."

Regina's hand tightened on Emma's. "We're really going to have a conversation about stealing children? _Miss Swan?_"

Emma tightened her grip and Regina whined in pain. "Yeah. I think we are. I didn't just come here because you sleep in ridiculous lingerie. I came here, because if I needed to drink someone, you'd have it coming!"

"_Me? _Gold killed his wife!"

Emma's eyes slammed back to blue. "What, really?"

"Yes. Really."

"God!"

"I _know._" Regina pulled her hand free. "Now, if you'd kindly allow me to look for a cure before you drink my blood? It seems only fair."

"Yeah… sure…" Emma shook her head, embarrassed, when she realized she was licking her lips.

* * *

"I beg your pardon?" Regina asked, looking up from her spell book.

"A top hat," Emma repeated. "Do you have a magic top hat?"

"I'm not that kind of magician, Sheriff." Regina gestured to the skulls that'd been made into candles, the cauldrons, the books bound in human skin. "Obviously."

"So…" Emma bounced a little on the stool Regina had planted her on. "You couldn't escape from a straitjacket?"

"No. Well…" Regina thought about it. "I could turn into a rat or disappear or something. But I couldn't pick the lock."

"And if you had a hat, you couldn't pull a rabbit out of it."

"Actually, I could do that. It's fairly easy, you just have to take care of the rabbit afterward. They're a big responsibility."

Emma nodded thoughtfully. "Could you cut yourself in half with a chainsaw?"

"Obviously not."

"I mean, if you had an assistant—"

"Yes, you seem to have volunteered for the position several times in the past." Regina closed her spell book and looked for another one. Nothing about vampires. She'd been meaning to index these, maybe get them all scanned onto a computer. She'd had twenty-eight years to get it done. Where did the time go? "You know magicians don't really saw anyone in half, right? The person is scrunched up on one side of the box and another person is sticking their legs out the other. Anyone can do it."

"Yeah, but if you nicked someone, you could heal them?"

Regina looked at her, refusing to believe a human could be so stupid. "It's a _chainsaw, _Emma. If I nick them, they're dead!"

"Not if you cut them in the leg or somewhere! Or, okay, fine." Emma gestured for calm, which Regina found a bit condescending. "If you were doing a throwing knife act, and you accidentally hit your lovely assistant—"

"Why is my assistant a woman?"

"What?"

"Why can't my assistant be a man?" Regina probably shouldn't have enjoyed antagonizing the vampire so much. Not when she was a vampire. But the way her face scrunched up… slightly adorable. At the very least, a good deal better than the stupidly happy looks plastered on David and Mary-Margaret.

"I didn't say your assistant wasn't a man!"

"You said lovely."

"Yeah, a lovely… man."

"So now he's Adam Lambert?"

Emma groaned. It came out something like a growl. "Yes. Your assistant is Adam Lambert. You're throwing knives at him when one hits him in the arm. Can you heal him or have you ended Adam Lambert's career?"

"Of course I can heal him. He's not Justin Timberlake."

"You would let Justin Timberlake bleed?"

"I would hit Justin Timberlake in the head."

"Wow. Harsh."

"You were a teenager in the 90s. All that 'bye bye bye' nonsense actually seemed like good music to you."

"It was! When did you get here anyway, the 80s? Your idea of good music must be disco."

"I didn't curse Storybrooke _that_ bad." A thought struck Regina as she reached for another book. "Emma. Why are you not-so-subtly asking me about healing injuries?"

"I just wanted to know, _theoretically, _if you could replenish your own blood. Say, if I needed a drink…"

"Emma, that is out of the question!" Regina pushed the book back into its place on the shelf. It was actually one of her cookbooks. She wasn't sure how it had gotten there. "Unless, of course, you were willing to make certain concessions…"

"How's this—if you can cure me in one day, I'll give you twenty bucks. If you cure me in two days, I'll give you ten. Three days… let's say a hug."

"Four days?"

"Firm handshake."

"Mmm." Regina found the book she'd been looking for. The spine really did look like that cookbook. Which was odd, considering this one was one of the human skin books. (She'd bought those secondhand. If it were up to her, they'd be bound in attractive, long-lasting calfskin, because skin was _disgusting_.) "That's assuming, of course, you can make it four days without drinking blood. You've already gone a considerable amount of time without proper sustenance." She shook her head. "But then, I'm sure David or Mary-Margaret would be happy to donate a little blood. Even Henry—"

"No!" Emma said, rising to her feet. "I'm not taking anything from them."

"Emma Swan, not leeching off of others. Curious."

"Yeah, yeah." Emma paced. "Joke all you want, I'm not doing it."

"Well, unless you can get a blood drive going very quickly…"

Emma stopped pacing. "What do you want?"

"I want Henry here three days a week, say, Thursday, Friday, Saturday."

"That's, like, the whole weekend!"

"Friday isn't part of the weekend. And you still have Sunday."

"Oh, _Sunday,_" Emma repeated sarcastically.

"It's a perfectly good day."

"It's boring! I'm not a boring mom!"

"You're boring me."

Emma folded her arms. "How much blood do I get?"

Regina leaned forward. The knot in her housecoat was loose. It made the belt she'd tied slip a little, opening up her housecoat—just a little. "As much as you want."

Emma inhaled lustfully before controlling herself. "And how can I be sure I'll be cured?"

"You really think I want a bloodthirsty vampire living with me, sucking on me every night?"

"I wouldn't have minded in my Lestat days."

"Whatever you say, Team Edward." Regina sat down, primly adjusting the hem of her housecoat. With her legs folded, Emma could see the blood just _thrumming_ in her thighs. "What do you propose?"

"Two weeks. If you find a cure in that time, the deal with Henry stands. If you don't, you only get two days with him. Another two weeks and still no cure, you get one day. Another two weeks…"

"I'm the Evil Queen," Regina interrupted, her spine iron-straight, her eyes boring into Emma. "Mistress of Magic, Grand Witch, the Power of the East, and the sitter in the Golden Throne. If I say you'll have your cure, you'll have it. Three days. And if I find you a cure in that time, you'll do something for me."

"What?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Emma thought it over. "Nothing that'll harm me or anyone else. Nothing that will make me look bad in Henry's eyes. Nothing _gross._ And… and I have three refusals. If I don't like your first three suggestions—and they have to be valid suggestions, you can't make something up just to get me to refuse—then I'll do the fourth."

"You, of course, reserve the right to go back and do one of the first three 'suggestions' if the fourth is… truly unbearable?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Regina smiled. "Done." She stood up, extending her hand.

Emma took it. Suddenly, Regina pulled her close.

"Just so you know, Emma—a deal in Storybrooke isn't like one of your mortal contracts, to be ripped up by lawyers because you have a bee in your bonnet. If you break your word—"

"Yeah, I saw The Little Mermaid. I know what I'm in for." Emma's mouth was feeling very dry. "Turn your head to the side."

"What?"

"Just… do it." Emma ran her thumb down the outside of Regina's hand, reminding her how strong she was now.

"Your blood," Regina remembered. "My. You don't waste time." She craned her neck, exposing her jugular to Emma. "Can you smell it? I just got a clean bill of health from Dr. Whale. I'm in perfect condition, Emma. Low blood pressure, no toxins, low stress. Walking the streets, around all those _peasants_, it must be like going into a bar filled with stale beer. But me… oh, Emma. Aren't I fine wine?"

"Quiet," Emma ordered, unable to take her eyes off Regina's thrumming vein. She could hear the rush of blood through it, taste a little of the adrenaline building up inside Regina. She was excited. "I'm not going to enjoy this."

"Oh, but Emma…" Regina pulled her robe open. "There's no reason why you can't. It'll be our… little… secret…"

Emma's eyes, of their own accord, traced the veins under Regina's skin. Not that the skin had anything wrong with it… "Is that another part of the deal?"

Regina's grin was predatory, matching the one Emma felt on her own lips. "What happens at the Mayor's, stays at the Mayor's."

"You're… you're…" Emma felt her head bending as if chains were wrapped around her neck. She was being drawn to Regina's throat. It was beautiful. Lovely. Art, really. She rested her forehead against it and sucked in breath. All week long, trying to ignore her urges, and Regina had turned them into a full-fledged addiction. She needed a fix of something she'd never had. "You're not even the Mayor anymore."

Regina pouted. "Another condition. If I can't tell anyone that I fucked Snow White's daughter, you have to call me the Mayor."

Emma could see, in microscopic detail, how the tiny hairs of Regina's skin vibrated when she breathed on it. "Madame… Mayor…"

"Good," Regina purred, running a finger over the front of Emma's T-shirt. "Take off your jacket."

"Huh?"

"Most of your wardrobe would probably be improved by having some blood splattered on it, but you actually seem fond of this ridiculous leather get-up, so we might as well keep it clean."

That made sense. Emma pulled it off. She felt Regina's hungry eyes on her.

"Besides," Regina smiled, "that's the only thing you have on that I'd have trouble ripping off."

Emma lunged, grabbing Regina at impossible speed and trapping her against the wall. Hands on her throat, her chest, pinning her in place. Regina's smile widened. Intrigued. Aroused. "No more foreplay, Madame Mayor."

She moved in for her bite, but somehow ended up kissing Regina instead. That just made her hungrier, in some way. In others… it was oddly satisfying.

"A little more," Regina said, parting her legs. "You're not a predator, Emma. If I were on the other side of this arrangement, I'd already have you bent over that table, sucking you dry. But you… you need so much _permission_. You know why you came here, Emma. Not to Gold or anyone else. You don't want to be cured. You want to feed."

Emma felt her fangs extending. She brought them to Regina's throat in a burst of motion, dragging them down Regina's neck, feeling the skin tremble in her wake. She could smell Regina. She could smell Regina's excitement.

"May I bite you, Madame Mayor?"

"Yes you may. But not there." Regina's hands were bunched in the hem of her teddy. She was drawing it up her legs. "_Down here._"

Emma could see the blood pounding in Regina's veins, her thigh. More blood vessels, a tangle of them, not the clean intimacy of the jugular but something dirtier, messier. Regina was tempting her with it and she couldn't say no.

Emma felt herself fall to her knees. She pressed her face to Regina's knee, trying to steady herself. She didn't want to just… take a bite out of Regina. (Well, she did). She wanted this to be at least a little civilized. She wanted to not leave scars, no evidence that this had ever happened.

And she wanted to bite down, _there, _at the junction of Regina's thighs, right where the blood was closest to the surface. But she didn't. Almost involuntarily, she dragged her lips over Regina's leg, up her thigh, savoring the blood beneath the surface like she was sniffing a glass of wine. The aroma—the adrenaline—her fangs were throbbing, wanting _in _all that succulent flesh.

She could see beyond the vein as well, past Regina's thighs. She was wearing a set of black panties, a faint throb of blood beneath them, calling to her, an even more exciting scent. No. No, no, no, she wouldn't let herself. She'd just drink, just… bite.

"Taste me, Emma." Regina's hand was in her hair, not pulling her in any direction. Just tugging on it. The slight pain making her heart race, her eyes dilate. "I don't have to be the only one to enjoy this. We both can."

Emma felt Regina's other hand before she saw it, felt it cleaving the air as it ran down Regina's body, blood swirling in its wake. Regina was sensitive to any touch, her own, anyone's. She needed it. She needed Emma's hands all over her body, but more importantly, she needed a hand down there. Between her legs. Right before Emma's eyes.

Emma watched her fingers disappear under her panties.

"And we haven't even gotten started yet," Regina whispered, her head thrown back, her blood demanding to be drunk.

Emma bit down on Regina's thigh, the blood surging down her throat, and she tasted Regina's orgasm.

* * *

"Two days," Emma said, holding her hand out in a beam of sunlight coming through the window. It was still a little tender, but at least she wasn't bursting into flames. "Fast work, Regina."

"I was very motivated," Regina said, setting a tray of tea before Emma. Slightly conflicted about serving the woman Earl Grey instead of herself. Just when she'd been coming up with all sorts of ideas for their nightcaps, she'd stumbled across the cure.

It would've almost been worth it to not mention her discovery for a few days, but then, she was a good guy now. Well… she was only occasionally bad, and Emma didn't seem to mind those occasions.

Memories of their second night together bloomed in her head. She'd taken a knife and made a small cut on her breast, letting Emma lap it up. It wasn't long before the vampire had her flat on her back, teeth in her neck and fingers in her cunt, arousing her even as she drank her. When they'd kissed, sharing the flavor, Regina had almost understood why.

"I'll drop Henry off on Thursday, after he's had his breakfast. I suppose I don't have to tell you to make sure he gets his homework done."

"It would be my pleasure," Regina smiled.

Emma felt a twinge in her sex, and somehow in her teeth. She wondered how long it'd be before Regina saying shit like that, and smiling _exactly _like that, would stop having that effect on her.

"There is, though—" Regina reached into her pocket. "-the small matter of our arrangement."

"Yeah. I remember. You cured me in two days, so I have to take your dare. What do you want me to do? Enter a pie-eating contest? Adopt a St. Bernard? Kick Gold's cane out from under him?"

Regina took her hand out of her pocket. She had a piece of paper. "While those are all tempting ideas—especially that one about the cane—I actually had something a little more… intimate… in mind." She handed the paper to Emma.

It was a picture.

"Oh," Emma said distantly, her eyes saucers. "Oh… _God."_

"You see, I've been having this dream…"


End file.
